Tears in Rain Part 8

Bruna charged down the dark corridors, crossed the lobby without greeting the guards and left the inst.i.tute as if she were running away. But her flight lost its momentum as soon as she abandoned the building. She stopped a few yards from the entrance, in the middle of the night and on an empty street, not knowing what to do or where to go. She was too upset to go home; too angry to go to one of her usual hang-outs, such as Oli's bar, and put up with the ba.n.a.l chitchat of some acquaintance; too full of death to remain on her own. Four years, three months, and twenty-one days.

The cold air was a relief to her burning cheeks. She was standing on the sidewalk, feet slightly apart, feeling all the weight of her body, her neck sweaty, her arms relaxed, her stomach smooth and taut, her legs agile. Flesh alert, eager. A body raging with life. An acute unease began to take shape inside her, like a storm cloud in a late summer sky. Suddenly she remembered something and started to rummage through all her pockets. Finally, wrapped up in a crumpled piece of paper inside a box of painkillers in her backpack, she found what she was looking for-a candy. An oxytocin c.o.c.ktail. The tiny pill must have been lying forgotten in its hiding place for months, and it was a bit sticky. Bruna gave the pill a superficial clean, rubbing it between two fingers, and then she placed it under her tongue to speed up the impact of the drug. And for a few minutes, she focused on breathing and waiting. On relishing the cold night air. On emptying her mind and becoming all body.

There was a car parked in front of the entrance to the Forensic Anatomy Inst.i.tute. It wasn't a regulation police vehicle, but the gray license plates indicated that it was an official car. Without doubt the car belonged to Inspector Paul Lizard-the Reptile, the Caiman, that barely trustworthy hulk. Bruna inhaled deeply. Her skin was burning, but from within now. In a few moments, the rep would do something about that. About all that energy and fire. Shortly, Bruna would begin to cruise the city; she would surf the night in search of s.e.x-of a carnal explosion capable of defeating death. The only possible eternity was between her legs. Like most humans and technohumans, Bruna was more or less bis.e.xual; only a few individuals were exclusively heteros.e.xual or h.o.m.os.e.xual. But on the whole, she preferred men, and in any case, tonight she wanted a man. Maybe someone as big as the reptile Lizard, a gigantic human whom she'd have begging for her android v.a.g.i.n.a. Bruna let loose a brief laugh. Her heart was beating faster, her body seemed to be boiling; the air was charged with pheromones. The rapture of the night. She was a star on the verge of bursting, a pulsating quasar. She walked a few steps, relishing her vigor and her agility, her hunger and her health. Relishing a ferocious happiness. She put her hand under her short metallic skirt and, leaning against the parked car, she took off her panties. Tonight she wanted to roam the city without any underwear. It wasn't the first time she had done so, and it wouldn't be the last. What pleasure to feel herself completely open, rid of hindrances, available. Before she headed off, she left her panties on the windscreen of the policeman's car. The world buzzed around her and the beat of life throbbed in her veins, her heart and, in particular, at the center of her naked flower, right down there.

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Floating Worlds Keywords: History of Science, Labaric Cult, aristopopulism, Plagues, Robot Wars, bilateral agreements, Second Cold War.

#63-025.

Entry being edited The Floating Worlds in existence at present are the Democratic State of Cosmos and the Kingdom of Labari. These two gigantic artificial structures maintain fixed orbits with respect to Earth, and are authentic worlds with complete autonomy. Although, for strategic reasons, Cosmos and Labari both adhere to a cryptic policy of data concealment, it is a.s.sumed that there are between five and six hundred million inhabitants on each of the Floating Worlds. They are all humans, as neither world allows technos or aliens to live there, a fact which converts these Worlds into zones that are undoubtedly more secure for our species.

The first references to the eventual need for the construction of an artificial world in the stratosphere to provide accommodation for at least a portion of humanity in the event of a catastrophe surfaced in the so-called Atomic Era-the decades in the mid-twentieth century that followed the explosion of the first nuclear fission bombs among civilian populations (Hiroshima and Nagasaki). But the idea of building alternative worlds in s.p.a.ce became a social necessity and a real possibility during the twenty-first century, following the havoc wreaked by global warming, which raised the level of the oceans by six feet and inundated some 18 percent of the Earth's surface and, even more critically, following the high loss of life, despair, and insecurity caused by the Plagues, the Rep War, and the Robot Wars.

The Kingdom of Labari is named after the founder of the Church of the One Creed, the Argentinian Heriberto Labari (20012071). A podiatrist by profession, Labari was born on September 11, 2001, the day of the well-known attack on the World Trade Center in New York, a coincidence he would subsequently use as evidence of his predestination. When he turned thirty, Labari p.r.o.nounced that he had received a divine message. He gave up his work, founded the Church of the One Creed, and dedicated himself to preaching about the Labaric Cult, which, according to him, was the original and primordial religion brought to Earth by extraterrestrials in remote times and subsequently perverted and broken up through ignorance and greed into the planet's various beliefs. The cult offered a syncretic mix of the bestknown religions, especially Christianity and Islam, together with ingredients from role-play and fantasy, with overtones reminiscent of a medieval, hierarchical, s.e.xist, subservient, and highly ritualistic world. In order to disseminate his teachings, Heriberto Labari wrote some twenty science fiction novels that quickly became very popular. "My fantastic tales are the Christian parables of the twenty-first century," he once declared. It must be remembered that the founding of the Church of the One Creed coincided with the terrible years of the Plagues, one of the most violent and tragic periods in the history of humanity, and Labari's message seemed to offer security and the possibility of salvation. When the prophet died in 2071, killed by a fanatical Shi'ite a.s.sa.s.sin, there were already hundreds of millions of Ones throughout Earth. Some of them, ranging from Arab sheiks from the Persian Gulf region to important Western entrepreneurs, were incredibly wealthy.

A few years before his death, Labari had begun to speak about the construction of a stratospheric world, not only in order to flee from an ever more convulsed Earth, but also to create a perfect society based on the rigid parameters of the Labaric Cult. His posthumous novel, The Kingdom of the Pure, specified in great detail what such a place would be like. Labari is shaped like a thick ring or, rather, an enormous pneumatic tire. By all accounts, it was generated by semiartificial bacteria capable of reproducing themselves in s.p.a.ce at dizzying speed and forming a light, semiorganic, porous, and practically indestructible material that does not lose its shape. The details of this highly innovative technology remain a secret. It is striking that a society that is officially ant.i.technology has been capable of a scientific discovery of this caliber, even if the processes employed are either natural or seem to imitate nature in some way. The Kingdom's inhabitants live inside the walls of the outer ring; and, in the interior, an immense reservoir of water and hydrogenreleasing algae supplies the Kingdom's energy needs.

While Labari is the result of a new religion, Cosmos is the product of an ideology. Although perhaps both end up being the same. When the Moon Pact, which ended the Rep War, was signed in 2062, there was only one state that did not sign it: Russia. At that time, the old Russian empire was going through the worst moment in its history. It was a bankrupt nation, devastated by gangs and drastically reduced in size thanks to successive wars and bitter conflicts with its neighbors, who had been shrinking its borders. Since the Russians were so poor and backward that they did not even have technohuman production plants, the fact that they had not signed the Moon Pact did not alter in any way the effectiveness of the agreement. But the refusal to sign made Amaia Elescanova-who had just been elected president of that nation in ruins-famous overnight.

Elescanova (20132104) was the founder and leader of the Regeneration (or PeeHepau) Party. She argued that all the evils of the world were the result of the abandonment of utopias and of surrender to the abuses of capitalism. While she maintained that both Marxism and the Soviet model were obsolete, she nevertheless demanded the creation of a common revolutionary front to end the world's inequalities. In her essay Responsible Minorities and Contented Ma.s.ses, the cornerstone of her ideology, Elescanova proposed a society governed by the wisest and the fittest, along the lines of Plato's republic but strengthened by scientific advances : "The same zygote could even be employed to boost the best qualities of the new ruling cla.s.s, by employing eugenic techniques (...) Science and Social Conscience United to Create the Supermen and Superwomen of the Future (capital letters in the original text)."

Regenerationism, or aristopopulism as it rapidly came to be called, spread like wildfire throughout the world, especially after the mid-2070s, when various nations began to impose a charge for clean air, and citizens with fewer resources were forced to emigrate en ma.s.se to the more polluted zones. But it was not just the financially weak sectors that adopted Elescanova's doctrine. Powerful parties from various countries and differing ideologies-from the extreme left to the extreme right-joined forces with the Russian leader in 2077 to form the International Aristopopular Movement (IAM), an antibourgeois, antireligion, and anticapitalist organization although, paradoxically, one that had considerable capital at its disposal.

A movement such as this naturally aspires to world domination, but perhaps Earth did not appear to the IAM to have much of a future. Whether it was for this reason or the news that the Labarians were going to build a floating kingdom, what is certain is that the IAM's first decision was to build its own extraterrestrial platform. In fact, a fierce compet.i.tion of sorts arose between the Ones and the Aristopopulists to see who could finish their project first, as if the remarkable achievement of an artificial world might serve as an advertising ploy for their respective, if opposing, life visions. Despite starting the race later, the IAM won; the Democratic State of Cosmos was inaugurated in 2087, while the first subjects of the Kingdom of Labari did not arrive until 2088.

Although the plans and details are also unknown in this instance, there is no question that Cosmos is a dazzling construction. A mult.i.tude of pyramids made out of carbon nanofibers are linked to one another to form a megapyramid. The result is a sort of tubular net, a framework from which the buildings or living modules are hung, interconnected by "streets" that run through the interiors of the tubes.

The construction of these artificial worlds was observed on Earth with growing distrust and apprehension. However, any effective opposition to the creation of these floating nations was prevented by the fact that the two projects were being driven by multinational social movements and, more importantly, by the chaos and loss of life provoked by the Robot Wars. And when they were finally inaugurated, millions of desperate residents of Earth attempted to gain admission to either of the worlds in order to escape the tremendous desolation caused by the wars. Cosmos and Labari did not partic.i.p.ate in the Global Agreements of Ca.s.siopeia, because they refused to grant technohumans and aliens the same rights as humans. Nevertheless, both the Ones and the Aristopopulists subsequently signed bilateral agreements with the United States of the Earth, although relations have never been easy. This coexistence, full of suspicion, secrets and tension, has been dubbed the Second Cold War by a.n.a.lysts. That said, given that the two worlds continue to be mortal enemies and have no diplomatic relations whatsoever, the USE has on occasion found itself obliged to carry out the role of unofficial intermediary.

Finally, some sources speak of the existence of a third Floating World, a much smaller structure, possibly even self-propelled--more a megas.p.a.ceship than an orbital platform--inhabited by a democratic, tolerant, and free society that enjoys a reasonably just and happy life. This community would have begun its clandestine existence during the turbulent years of the Robot Wars, and since then would have managed to hide itself in s.p.a.ce. It is known as Avalon, but everything points to its existence being an urban myth.

CHAPTER TEN.

The first thing Bruna was conscious of, as always, was the stabbing throb in her temples. The hangover drilling through her head like a fiery screw.

Next, she sensed a reddish light through the membrane of her eyelids-eyelids that were still too heavy to feel like opening. But the light suggested that it was very bright. Maybe it was daytime.

Whiplashes of pain shot across her forehead. Thinking was torture.

Bruna nevertheless forced herself to think. And to remember. A black hole seemed to have swallowed up her most recent past, but on the other side of that enormous void the rep began to recover broken images of the previous night, landscapes glimpsed through the fog. Noisy venues full of people. Packed dance floors. Before that, the Forensic Anatomy Inst.i.tute. Chi's corpse. The street, the moon. And Bruna putting a candy under her tongue. Again, she glimpsed a confusion of venues. A faceless character inviting her to have a drink. The public screens chattering against a black sky. A group of musicians playing. A hand making its way up her back. She shivered, and that forced her to become aware of the rest of her body apart from her ever-present, pounding head. She was facedown on what seemed to be a bed, arms bent on either side of her body, her face resting on her left cheek.

Bruna breathed slowly so as not to arouse the monstrous headache further. She had no recollection of how the night had ended, and she had absolutely no idea where she might be. She loathed waking up in a strange house. She hated greeting a new day in a neighborhood she didn't know, and having to check location coordinates on her mobile in order to find out where she was. She felt the sheet with her right hand, but it was impossible to determine by touch alone if it was her own bed. She had no alternative but to open her eyes. Four years, three months, and twenty days.

She raised her eyelids very slowly, afraid to look. Sure enough, there was a lot of light; a merciless daylight that beat down on her retinas. It took her a few seconds to overcome the dazzle, then she recognized the small fake-leather armchair half-covered by the messy pile of her clothes-the metallic skirt, the thermal jacket. And the T-shirt tossed on the familiar synthetic wood floor. She was in her own apartment. That was a start.

The good news encouraged her and, supporting herself on her hands, she managed to raise her trunk. As she was doing so, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that beside her the bedspread was bulging over what appeared to be another person. She wasn't alone. Not everything was going to be so simple, of course.

Being totally nude wasn't the best way to introduce herself to a stranger, so she grabbed the jacket from the nearby armchair and clumsily put it on, still sitting on the bed. Then she took a deep breath, summoned all her energy and stood up. Standing next to the bed, her temples throbbing, she looked at her visitor, who, judging by the lump, was very big. A bulky body lying on its side with its back to her, completely covered by the sheet. Well, not entirely. Up top some hair was visible-coa.r.s.e-and the nape of a neck, a green neck.

Bruna gasped for air.

It couldn't be.

It couldn't be.

She put a hand up to her head to relieve her headache and contain the riot of horrific thoughts. Stealthily, she made her way around the bed until she was close to the face of the sleeping occupant-a wide, flat nose; bushy eyebrows; greenish skin.

She had slept with a bicho.

She felt like throwing up.

But had she really slept with a bicho? What she meant was, had she...? Merely exploring the idea in her head turned her legs to jelly. She had to sit down on the bed so that she wouldn't fall. And that movement woke the alien.

The alien opened his eyes and looked at her. His eyes were honey colored, with a melancholy expression. He was an Omaa. Frantic, Bruna tried to remember what she knew about Omaas. They were the most numerous Others on Earth because, apart from the diplomatic delegation, there were the thousands of refugees who had fled from the religious wars on their world. Those refugees were the poorest aliens precisely because they were stateless, and that meant they were the most despised of the bichos. They were...hermaphrodites? Or was that the Balabis? h.e.l.l's bells! Bruna was terrified at the thought of having to see her bedmate in his entirety.

Moving slowly, meticulously and with infinite calm-the same way that a human would move in the face of a small animal he didn't want to frighten-the bicho sat up in the bed, naked from the waist up, and with the rest of him covered by the sheet. Oh, yes, thought Bruna with faint disgust, and these are also the translucent ones. What was most disturbing about extraterrestrials was their appearance, at the same time so human and so alien. The impossible similarity of their biology. The Omaa was tall and muscular, a robust version of a man with arms and hands and nails on the ends of his-Bruna stopped to count them-six fingers. But the head-with its bristly hair and bushy eyebrows, its wide nose that resembled a snout, and its sad eyes-was too much like that of a dog. And then there was the worst part, the skin: semibluish; greenish in the wrinkles; and worst of all, semitransparent, which meant that, depending on the activity and the light, you could make out bits of the internal organs, pink suggestions of pulsating viscera. h.e.l.l, what would it feel like to touch that d.a.m.n skin? She had no memory of having touched it, and if truth be told, she didn't want to remember either. So now what were they going to do? Ask each other their names?

The bicho smiled timidly.

"Hi. I'm Maio."

His voice had the husky roar of the sea crashing against rocks, but you could understand him all right, and his accent was more than acceptable.

"I...I'm Bruna."

"Pleased to meet you."

A silence bristling with unasked questions sprang up between them. And now what? the rep asked herself.

"Do you remember...Do you recall when we got home last night?" Bruna asked, finally.

"Yes."

"In other words, you...ahem...I mean, do you remember everything?"

"Yes."

d.a.m.n, thought Bruna, I'd rather not go on checking.

"Well, Maio, I've got to go. Sorry. I mean, we have to leave. Right now."

"Okay," said the bicho with a friendliness bordering on gentleness.

But he didn't move.

"Come on, we're going."

"Yes, but I have to get up and get dressed. I'm naked."

Oh, yes. Of course! Are Omaas that modest? Though it went without saying that she wasn't ready to look at him either.

"I'll get dressed, too. In the bathroom. And in the meantime, you..."

Bruna left her sentence hanging in the air, grabbed her clothes from the previous night so that she wouldn't have to waste time looking for something else, and locked herself in the bathroom. Dazed, her head still splitting with pain, she had a short vapor shower and then put on the metallic skirt and T-shirt again. She grunted with displeasure when she realized that she didn't have any underwear at hand and remembered what she'd done with her panties the night before. Not having the garment now really annoyed her. She wet her face with a tiny jet of her really expensive water in an attempt to clear her head and then stealthily opened the door. In front of her, the alien stood waiting for her beside the bed like a well-behaved dog anxious to please. He had to be about six and a half feet tall. He was wearing a sort of tubular skirt that hung from his waist down to the middle of his calves. That was when Bruna remembered that that was how the Omaas dressed, with those skirts made from material that resembled fluffy wool in warm, earthy colors-ochre, burgundy, mustard yellow. Elegant attire, although the skirt that Maio was wearing was quite threadbare. The worst thing was that on top he was wearing a horrendous Earthling T-shirt, one of those promotional freebies, with a garish image of a frothy beer. It was two sizes too small and was stretched to bursting point across his strong chest.

"It's to cover me up. The T-shirt. I've noticed that you Earthlings don't like to look at bodies with transparent skin," said the alien in his oceanic voice.

Yes, of course, thought Bruna. Omaas usually went about with their chests bare, apart from some wraparound belts whose usefulness was a complete mystery to the rep. Maybe they were just for decoration. Anyway, the T-shirt was awful. He was an astral beggar.

"Right. Good. Okay. Well then, let's go," spluttered the detective.

They left the apartment and on the way down they came across a couple of neighbors. Bruna could see the amazement in their eyes, and the fear, repugnance, and curiosity. Just what I needed, she thought. Apart from being a rep, now I'm with a bicho, and on top of that, a bicho with the grubby looks of a vagrant. When they reached the street, they stopped, facing one another. Should I have offered to let him use the bathroom? wondered Bruna, feeling slightly guilty. And shouldn't I have offered him some breakfast? If he was a refugee, as seemed likely, maybe he was hungry. And what did these creatures eat? The problem was the alien's sad dog look, those ever-so-human eyes that you only ever found on strays, that wretched appearance of an abandoned little animal, despite the size of his bulky body. For heaven's sake, thought Bruna. She'd slept with some dreadful people during her craziest nights, but waking up with a bicho was going too far.

"Well, good-bye, then," said the rep.

And she headed off without waiting for a reply, hopping onto the first travelator she came across. A few yards farther on, just before the travelator took a wide curve around a corner, she couldn't resist the urge to look back. The alien was still standing by the entrance to her building, looking at her helplessly. Get lost, thought Bruna. And she let herself be carried on her way until she had lost sight of the bicho. Finished. Never again.